Two Types Of Love
by Autaria
Summary: Before Optimus Prime was who he was, he was Orion Pax. And Orion Pax knows of two types of love. Two-part story. Warning for Prowl/Jazz and Ironhide/Optimus Prime slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hey there :) This is something I did while I was bored. Writing the next chapter of The Bonds That Bind may take a while, because I am currently obsessed with gaming and watching the Season 1 TFP episodes. :D This here is the first installment of a two-part story. In this story, Orion Pax became Optimus Prime when he grew up, but the Great War never happened and Cybertron was at peace with itself, there are no Autobots and no Decepticons.

1 vorn = 83 human years, one Cybertronian year

1 groon = 1.5 human months (if I am not wrong), one Cybertronian month

* * *

Optimus Prime knew of two types of love. The first one was the love of a family. It was something he had known of since he was a youngling, but it took him vorns and vorns before he began to learn and accept it. It occured when Optimus Prime was still Orion Pax, of course, and back then, he was barely two vorns old, the human equivalent of a two-week old baby.

Orion Pax was born into an abusive family – a Sire who constantly abused substances such as high-grade, coming home on late recharge-cycles reeking of the heavy liquid, and a Carrier who wasn't much better, injecting herself with various types of unrefined Energon-based drugs. It was purported to give Cybertronians a temporal ecstatic feeling, which was probably the reason why his Carrier did it. On most nights, his Sire would return home late, and his Carrier would start yelling at his Sire, and it erupted into shouting matches right in front of Orion's cot. The sparkling could not stand any of it, of course, but if he tried to cry he would be beaten, so the most the child could do was to scoot into the furthest corner of the cot, and try not to let his whimpers be heard over the din of quarreling.

Orion was beaten regularly. He didn't even have to do anything – if one of his Creators were in a bad mood, then he took the brunt of their frustrations. It was a fact that the future Prime did not have a happy sparkling-hood. Regularly, the sparkling would be picked up, and given backhands across his adorable facial plates, and obscenities would be hurled at him for no reason at all. Each of these abuse sessions ended with Orion sobbing silently into a corner, his tiny frame wrecked with indents from the powerful blows of his Creators, often bleeding Energon. His self-repair system would patch those leakages up eventually, of course, but it still hurt.

It was unbecoming of Creators to abuse their own Creations, of course, but then again, Orion's Creators did not give a single bother toward their own sparkling, their very own metal and Energon. And it was thus that most of Orion's precious sparkling-hood was spent in fear, being scared of any adult mech. His Creators made him stay at home, and never let him move out of their cramped living quarters. Any wrong movement – fidgeting, or even looking at them, would cause his Creators to burst into sudden flaming tempers, that undoubtedly ended with Orion being beaten, bruised, and scurrying into the farthest possible corner that he could get into. For the first part of his lifespan, Orion had no idea what love was.

When his Creators were out of their apartment, Orion often let himself out onto the balcony, and would wistfully watch the family that lived opposite their apartment. The two Creators, both mechs, could often be found on their own balcony, cuddling their own Creations. Once or twice they actually noticed the small sparkling watching them and would wave to Orion. That was the gesture that was closest to affection that Orion had ever witnessed so far in his short lifespan, and it didn't even come from his own Creators. How he wished he could be one of his neighbours' Creations! The two mechs that he watched silently every time he was home alone always showed displays of affection openly to their three sparklings, giving them Energon treats whenever they were good and chiding them gently when they did the wrong thing. Every evening, he knew, his neighbours would take their sparklings out on their balcony and would teach them the names of the various celestial bodies that one could see from Cybertron. Hadeen. Dread. Thrush. Frehley's Comet, if they were lucky enough to see it. Thulsa Doom.

Feeding was another thing. Orion was not fed by either of his Creators personally. What his Carrier preferred to do was to leave a small cube of Energon, not enough to satisfy the sparkling's energy levels, by the cot, and Orion taught himself how to feed without relying on any mech. Nevertheless the amount of Energon he was given daily was a third that of what normal, healthy sparklings drank, and so Orion grew extremely emaciated within the first vorn of his lifespan, much thinner than normal sparklings, and much more fragile, easily prone to viruses, fluxes and injury. Of course, neither Creator bothered to help him when he was sick, or fluxing very badly. It taught Orion many things, both good and bad.

The turning point of his sparkling-hood came, not too long after. Orion had accidentally broken a vase. A small, cheap thing, actually, but his Sire was too drunk to keep an optic out for detail. Immediately the sparkling was given a tight slap across the cheek plates, knocking him back a few steps. His facial plates scrunched up, all ready to cry, but before he could manage a single whine he was given another blow right in the stomach. It knocked the sparkling flat on the backstrut, vents heaving for intakes. A soft whimper, which only caused more beatings to ensue. This time, Orion did not bother to fight back or struggle, as he had done so many times previously. His servos were already bleeding Energon from where the sharp metal shards of the vase had cut. His Sire did not appear to notice his injuries, and merely continued beating the crying sparkling, drawing more Energon from torn plating.

The pain peaked when he felt something crack – he did not know what – and then the sparkling could not feel anything else past the point of searing hot agony. His optics shuttered themselves, and a long, animalistic sound drew itself from the sparkling's vocalizer.

"This sparkling is a nuisance," he heard his Carrier's haughty tone, announcing her disdain for her Creation, right before he offlined from the pain. "We should just get rid of him."

And he was thus brought to the Youth Sectors. Orion onlined in a different room, a much different one than the dirty apartment he was so used to. This room was a clean one, and there was a mech that he did not recognize, sitting in front of him, patiently waiting for the sparkling to wake up. His olfactory sensors told him that this was a sterilized room. It scared and amazed him at the same time – for, besides his neighbours, he had never seen another adult mech, much less been in another room except for the ones in his Creators' living quarters.

His memory played back bits of recordings of what he remembered, piecemeal. The last thing he could remember was a sickening ripping sensation, and then lots and lots of pain. Was this mech in front of him going to do the same, too? Perhaps his Sire thought that he wasn't being punished enough, and had sent him to some sort of a nice environment to lure him into a false sense of security, and then had hired this mech to beat him again?

Whimpering from the memory, Orion scooted backward, nearly falling off the ledge of the berth. The large mech standing in front of him caught the tiny sparkling in both servos before he could fall. Orion covered his faceplates with his tiny servos again. He had caused another blunder by not watching where he was sitting and nearly falling off the big berth, hadn't he? And blunders usually meant that someone would beat him afterward as punishment for messing up. The berth was not very big but it was a good height above the floor. If Orion had dropped, it would have caused severe damage.

His whimpers grew louder, but softened when he heard the mech in front of him whisper hushed nothings to him, in an attempt to soothe the sparkling. Orion was confused, putting down his hands, and looking up at the big mech. Nobody had ever tried to calm him down like this before. His Creators did not care for his wellbeing, not a single bit. Orion studied the mech. No, he appeared sane, unlike his Sire. Large, baby blue optics dilated, and then focused.

"Hey there," the mech murmured, pulling Orion closer to him, so that the sparkling was sitting in the middle of the berth. "You don't have to be afraid anymore." The tone was completely soothing, and Orion found himself enjoying it. He had never been treated so gently before. The mech, red in colour, rested his chin on his servos, staring at the sparkling with light cherry optics. "I'd say it's time we got acquainted. My name's Knock Out, and I'm a medic in the Youth Sector. I've been assigned to take care of you. What about you? What's your designation?"

Orion did not answer, but tilted his head slightly at the words.

"Not so talkative, huh, young one?" Knock Out chuckled softly, reaching to lift the sparkling in his servos. Orion flinched upon the light contact, and let out a nearly inaudible whine, but the medic hushed the sparkling once more with a soft stroke to the audio receptors. Orion found himself enjoying the feeling. Nobody had ever bothered to lavish a gentle touch on him before. Knock Out settled his charge into the crook of his arm, fetching a small, sweetened cube of Energon from the fridge. He sat on one of the large berths, lifting the cube up to Orion's dermal plates, and watching as the sparkling drank, slowly.

Once Orion was done refueling, Knock Out settled the sparkling back on the padded, warmed berth, and resumed his position with his head on his servos, palms resting on the surface of the berth, watching the sparkling stare back at him. "Your Sire told me that your name was Orion." At the sound of the word 'Sire', the sparkling flinched, and cowered back a few inches before Knock Out stopped him, a large servo pressed to the youngling's tiny backstrut. "It's okay," Knock Out began slowly. "He's not here any longer. You don't live there anymore, okay? You belong in the Youth Sectors now. And we're going to take good care of you, I promise. _I'm _going to take good care of you." It was unlikely that a sparkling of Orion's age could understand much of what Knock Out was saying, but the look in the hazy blue optics told Knock Out that Orion was not an ordinary sparkling. And apparently, Knock Out knew what the sparkling had gone through with his Creators.

"I welded your arm back for you, young one," Knock Out busied himself rummaging through a medical kit. "It was ripped off when your Sire brought you to the Youth Sectors. Now, you have to be careful when you use your left servo, because it's going to be sore for a couple of days." He did not care if the sparkling did not fully understand his complicated sentences, but tapped a finger lightly to Orion's shoulder plating. "Be careful," he reiterated with a soft tone, and then continued rearranging the medical equipment.

Orion concluded that this mech was not going to hurt him, and lunged forward to burrow himself in the mech's chassis. He had been deprived of familial comfort for so long that he yearned for any kind of positive emotion – for any kind of acceptance. Because of what he had been put through at his early age, he was much more mature than any two-vorn old sparkling should be. Knock Out was surprised at the sudden movement, but let Orion weep into his chest plates, his large servos tracing patterns over the tiny red-and-blue armor plates in an attempt to calm the distraught youngling down. This sparkling, Knock Out realized, was going to be a lot more fragile than most two-vorn olds were. He was a lot smaller and thinner as well – that was something the medic was not going to stand for. He intended to put this sparkling back together, and when he was healthy enough, Orion would be put up for adoption in the Youth Sectors.

The medic held the sparkling close as he cried.

* * *

It had taken a whole groon, but by the end of the Cybertronian month Orion was healthy enough to be released from the medical bay and put up for adoption. The sparkling spent most of his days in the Youth Sector playing with other sparklings of his age – it was where he had met his best friend, Ironhide, another sparkling that was up for adoption. Ironhide was much more stronger than Orion, but never bullied or teased the smaller youngling, and always took care of him and comforted him whenever he felt like crying.

Eventually, though, the time had come for when Orion was to be adopted. The sparkling did not know much of his foster Creators – just that they came to see him a few times while he was still in the Youth Sector and making plans for him to come home with them. He liked them much more than his actual Creators, of course. He learned from Knock Out that his foster Sire's name was Prowl, and his foster Carrier's name would be Jazz. They always had a kind word and a Energon sweet for him – the kind sparklings loved. Of course, Ironhide was sad to see him go, and they parted with an amicable farewell, promising that they would see each other again soon.

Prowl and Jazz provided a much better home than his original Creators, giving him everything a sparkling would need, and much more. They fed him three times a day, like a normal sparkling should, by themselves. Both foster Creators preferred to carry Orion in their right arm while handling the Energon bottle in the left, so that Orion could feed properly. It was much different as compared to his old life, where he would have been forced to refuel himself. There were no beatings in this new home, no violence. Prowl and Jazz never raised a servo to him. If he accidentally dropped or broke something, Orion would brace himself with a whimper, waiting for the inevitable blow, but it never came. Jazz would always pick his foster Creation up, stroking his armor plates lightly, and Orion would stop crying. Prowl would clean up the mess afterward, but they never once scolded or beat Orion for anything he did.

Jazz was a happy-go-lucky Carrier – he liked to sing songs, recite poems, and watch entertainment shows with his adopted sparkling. Most of the time, he was at home while Prowl went to do his work as a high-ranking commander in the Cybertronian military. Nonetheless, he made sure that Orion went wherever he did. If he had to leave his living quarters to buy some necessities, he would take the sparkling along with him, and it gave Orion a chance to see the world – to see different mechs and femmes go about their daily lives. He loved Orion like his own, always taking care of the sparkling's welfare and personal being. If Orion fell down and hurt himself, he would always bandage up the wounds and reassure the crying sparkling that he was okay. No one would hit him just because he fell down.

Prowl was the stricter of the two Creators, but he was gentle at the same time. If Orion did something wrong, he would sit the sparkling down and tell him what was right and what was not. The sparkling never repeated his mistakes after that, of course. Though Prowl did not see his adopted Creation as often as Jazz did due to his work, he lavished the same amount of love and care on his sparkling as Jazz did. Every night, he brought Orion out onto their large balcony to teach him the names of the stars, just as Orion's neighbours had taught their own sparklings. Their living quarters was much bigger than Orion's previous one, and the balcony was equally enlarged, so it gave enough room for two grown mechs and a sparkling to sit and stargaze.

"That's Aouda Fogg," Orion pointed, announcing in an adorable childish voice to both his Creators, who were leaning against one another, watching their sparkling in Prowl's lap name all the planetary bodies. "That's Thulsa Doom. And that's Belegaer. That's Galleon." The sparkling turned back his to his Carriers. "Did I get it all right?"

"Actually, young one, that's Galleon. And _that's _Belegaer. But it wasn't bad. You named nearly all of them on your second try!" Prowl picked the sparkling up, nuzzling his Creation. "I'd say you deserved this." Rewarding the sparkling with a small Energon sweet, he watched his foster sparkling chirp happily, and turned his gaze on Jazz, who was leaning into him. "He's getting better at this."

Jazz smirked, lifting a finger to trace Orion's cheekplates. "Of course he is."

For the rest of Orion's sparkling-hood, he was happy, and he was brought up by two caring mechs. Prowl and Jazz both taught Orion what it meant to be loved by a family, and that was the first type of love Optimus Prime grew to know.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't forget to R&R :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Hey there, here's the second and final chapter of this story :) It was really fun writing it! Please remember to R&R :)

* * *

The second type of love that Optimus Prime came to know was the love of a companion, of a consort, of a lover. The second type was only known to him in the later part of his life cycle, when he was barely a legal adult mech, but was still considered as one. It had come to his attention after he had been accepted as the disciple of Primus.

Orion Pax had been raised to be a bright, young, attractive mech under two very loving foster Creators, Prowl and Jazz. Once he had reached the appropriate courting age, two vorns past his final upgrade, there was a long list of suitors who had wanted his foster Creators' permission to court him. Jazz was overjoyed that their adopted Creation was so sought for, while Prowl was a little less enthusiastic about the fact that Orion was getting so much attention at such a young age. Some were mechs that Orion had met while he was still schooling at the Iacon Academy of Science. Others were mechs that he had known since childhood – some he didn't even know at all.

No matter how popular he was with the other mechs and femmes at the Academy, the person he missed the most of all was Ironhide. He still remembered the mech from his days at the Youth Sector, way before Prowl and Jazz had adopted him. They had lost contact many years ago, after the Youth Sectors' adoption center had moved to a different location. Orion had no idea where, but after that, he never wrote to or received a letter from Ironhide ever again. And it was indeed regrettable, for Ironhide was the only one of his friends who made him feel at ease, just like how his foster Creators could make him feel.

"So, who's this fellow?" Jazz turned over the container slowly, and read the delicately printed label. "Thundercracker." He raised an eye at his adopted Creation, who had nestled his helm in his lap. "So, you going to tell me about this Thundercracker guy or what?"

Orion's baby blue optics onlined. The mech, now a full nine hundred vorns old, was at the prime age for courting. His blue and red armor made him stand out in a crowd, and his gentle optics had a particular hue that no other mech had. His facial features were rearranged in a delicate manner, and Orion's smile could capture the attention of any suitor. His rims and thighs drew lots of attention, and it was something that Orion wished that he didn't have so often. The future Prime was currently lying on their oversized sofa, helm resting gently on his foster Carrier's thigh plating.

"He's okay," Orion shrugged. "He's one of the senior students at the Academy. He's one of those types – you know, the ones who always hand in their homework on time, get straight As, listen to the lecturer, never goes into recharge during lesson time, stuff like that. He's very level-headed, too. One of the most sensible mechs on the campus, if I've ever met any at all. He can be counted on to do things, and keep his promises."

Jazz arched an optic ridge, knowing that his sparkmate was listening to their conversation from the kitchen, where Prowl was currently stuck with doing the dishes. "He sounds good enough for you. The two of you would make a perfect fit, you know, since you're both so obsessed with academics." He studied his adopted Creation. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's boring," Orion complained, burrowing his helm into Jazz's stomach, turning over his body. "And he's very quiet. He hardly uses his vocalizer, and if he talks it's just concerning the current subject matter or homework task that has been assigned to us. It's not that I don't like him – I just find that we don't share a common interest. Besides academics, of course. Anyway, there's nothing much to talk about regarding our studies."

Jazz smirked, stroking his Creation's helm, amused that such a childish gesture would be coming from a young, full grown mech. "He sent you your favourite rust sticks in a nicely decorated box, and you turn him down. Never anyone good enough for you, is there?"

"It's not because of that. They like me because of how I look. Nobody ever likes me for who I am," Orion pouted, and Jazz sighed, running a finger down his cheek plating like how he had done hundreds of vorns ago when Orion was still a sparkling.

"It takes time to find the right person, sweetspark," Jazz murmured. "I'm glad you always take time to think about the situation, and not rush into things. Just take your Sire and I, for example. We knew each other for about fifty vorns before we decided to get bonded. It started off slowly, at first, but once we got to know each other, it went fine. A good first impression of your suitor is very important, of course, but it's not always everything. I thought your Sire was a grumpy old thing when I first met him, but look where we are today."

"I heard that," came the barked reply from the kitchen, accompanied with the sound of running water.

Jazz rolled his optics at the retort, and turned his focus back to his grown-up sparkling. "Whoever you choose, though, expect to bring him home for dinner one day. Your Sire and I will definitely be pleased to meet your intended." A smirk, and then, "Just make sure he's drilled and prepared for the upcoming interrogation that your Sire will give him halfway during the dinner."

A soft chuckle came from his adopted Creation, and Orion gave that brilliant smile of could light up the whole of Iacon.

"Take your time and choose slowly," Jazz continued, entangling his fingers with his Creation's. "He doesn't have to be perfect, but make sure he's decent, loyal to you, and that he loves you for who you are. And you'll have to get your Sire's approval before you proceed. Understand?" He grinned as Orion nodded his helm obediently, and laid a soft kiss to his Creation's cheek.

* * *

Orion was eventually transferred to the weapons department of the Academy, half a vorn after he had graduated. The Academy had requested for him to come back and work as a lecturer – he was one of their most treasured alumni, having gotten a perfect score for his graduating examinations and his overall academic record. He would teach weapon assembly, his forte, as well as weapon maintenance. Being a junior lecturer, he was assigned to work in pairs due to the lack of inexperience. Currently, he was seated at the opposite end of the Academy's dean's desk, doing a quick briefing with the dean himself.

"Your partner did not graduate from the Academy," the dean informed him, a large 'Bot named Ultra Magnus. "He recently moved from Kaon to Iacon, upon receiving this job offer to be a lecturer. He's a prodigy regarding weapons. He's even designed some of his own in his spare time, and is currently in negotiations with big companies for the patent. Unfortunately, he lacks experience regarding teaching. You, on the other hand, have taught a couple of classes before graduating, am I not wrong? You have a little experience in that field. The two of you will help each other for the first half vorn of your teaching career. After which, you'll have enough experience to teach individually."

Orion nodded. "If I may ask, Sir, when is our first class?"

"Your first class will be tomorrow afternoon. The two of you will be teaching the junior batch in the Academy. I trust you have been informed on what part of the syllabus you will be covering?" At Orion's nod, Ultra Magnus continued. "I wish you all the best for your first lecture tomorrow. A senior lecturer will be coming to see how you do, of course." The door to his office opened, and Ultra Magnus' vision snapped from Orion to the towering mech standing at the doorway. "Here he is."

The mech at the doorway looked vaguely familiar. Orion studied him for a moment, his optics going from the mech's foot pedes to his helm, trying to remember where he had last seen that jet black paintjob. Or those piercing ice-cold optics, or his handsome facial features. Or perhaps, the bulked mass. This mech was definitely bigger than him! And yet, Orion also felt strangely comforted in his presence. His CPU was scrabbling at his filled databanks, trying to find out where he had seen this mech before. Their visitor bowed slightly towards the dean, a respectful gesture to Ultra Magnus, before stepping inside the room.

"Orion, I'd like you to meet your partner, Ironhide."

Those words nearly stopped Orion's spark. "Ironhide?"

"Orion?" The black mech's optics snapped their focus to him. "Orion Pax?"

Orion's dermas curled upward into a smile. "It _is _you."

"The two of you know each other? Great! I will abstain from introductions then. Now, the class schedule for the both of you is as follows - tomorrow afternoon's class will be on weapons upgrading. As for the day after that…" Ultra Magnus droned on. The two mechs gave him their attention, although they couldn't help but steal glances at each other intermittently. Orion's spark was singing. Ironhide was back, the mech who had always comforted him when he was going to cry, had protected him when he was in fear of being bullied, had offered a kind word and bandaged up his knees when he fell. Those days back in the Youth Sectors brought a smile to his dermas. Everything was going to be fine. The mech who liked him for himself was back. He couldn't wait for this briefing to be over, and then they could catch up on everything that they had missed – imagine what Prowl and Jazz would say!

* * *

They had waited until the dean had dismissed them, and they had gotten a reasonable distance from his office before starting to speak to each other again, unable to contain their excitement.

"I can't believe I'd see you here," Ironhide began, dental plates glinting in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through a window as he smiled brilliantly. "I thought I'd never see you again after the Youth Sectors' adoption centers moved."

"I couldn't write to you," Orion agreed. "But how did you…I thought the dean said you moved from Kaon to Iacon…?"

"I got adopted a few groons after you did," Ironhide explained, happy to talk to Orion again. "Right after the Youth Sectors' adoption department shifted, I got adopted. My foster Creators were really nice, but my foster Sire got a job offer in Kaon, that was why we had to move from Iacon to Kaon. A few groons back my Sire got a promotion, but he had to be stationed in Iacon if he wanted to be promoted, so we moved back here. I got the lecturer job offer back when we were in Kaon and preparing to move, so I accepted the offer, since we were moving back here anyway. But to think I'd meet you here…"

"How are things going for you? I can't wait to see what _my _foster Creators would say if they saw you again! They saw you once or twice, right before they adopted me, remember? I've always told them that I missed you, and right after the Youth Sectors moved we've been trying to contact you, but to no avail. You _must _come for dinner tonight, I believe we need to get reacquainted with each other."

"I agree, but if I come for dinner tonight, then you really need to come see my house tomorrow. We just moved in, and there's lots of stuff that's unpacked but it's really quite nice. Did you hear anything about the other mechs in the adoption centers? Did they get adopted?"

"I know Blackout and Swindle got adopted, because I still keep in touch with them. I'm not so sure about Airachnid, though, but I know Bumblebee and Barricade were adopted together. Oh, did you hear about Perceptor and Drift's case? They say that…"

Both mechs started chatting merrily, walking down the hallways of the Academy as Orion proceeded to give Ironhide a tour of the facilities. Ironhide seemed oblivious to the stares and glares that he got from Orion's envious suitors, and in turn the only mech that Orion paid attention to for the rest of the day was his friend.

Prowl and Jazz were equally exultant and surprised upon discovering that Ironhide and Orion had finally met up with each other. They treated Ironhide as if he was a family friend and not another pesky suitor. When he came over for dinner that night, there were none of Prowl's interrogation-style questions, but casual chatting across the table. And, for once in a very long time, Orion was very, very happy.

* * *

"Is it still painful?" Ironhide pressed an audio finial to Optimus Prime's flank.

"You bet," the Prime grumbled. "It's only been three groons, 'Hide. He's not going to move so early."

"How do you know it's not a 'she'?" Ironhide countered, shuttering his optics and trying to concentrate. Nope, there was no sound or movement coming from his sparkmate's swollen gestation chamber. "Slag it. Maybe another time, then."

Optimus chuckled softly, a rumble coming from his vocalizer, and he leaned back, resting his helm on his sparkmate's chassis. "It's fine, 'Hide," he murmured, as Ironhide leaned down to press a kiss onto his dermas. "Our sparkling is perfectly fine. The only thing that's unsettled is its name."

The two mechs had quickly settled down after they had sparkbonded. Prowl and Jazz had certainly approved of Ironhide courting Orion – and Orion had earned the Matrix not long afterward, bestowing him with the title of Optimus Prime. Their living quarters that they had bought was positioned right next to Prowl and Jazz's, so that Optimus's foster Creators could come and see their foster Creation any time they wanted to. Now that Optimus was with sparkling, they came over nearly every orn to see how he was doing while Ironhide went to work at the Academy as the head lecturer.

"Yes, but it's still a cause for worry. Speaking of which – did you get enough sleep today? And did you remember to refuel in the morning? Did you –"

Silencing his sparkmate with a long and deep kiss, Optimus smiled when the kiss broke, brushing his fingers lightly across Ironhide's dermas. "Yes, yes, yes, and before you ask, no. I did housework today."

"You're not supposed to do the chores," Ironhide pouted. "That's my job. You're supposed to get enough rest and sleep, and refuel often, and let me handle everything else."

"Ironhide, I'm not crippled, or wounded," Optimus laughed, his rich voice filling their living room. "I'm just carrying. Anyway, my Sire and Carrier helped me when they came over to check on me just now. It's nothing to worry about, 'Hide. Besides, you come home every night tired, and since I'm on leave anyway, I might as well do something, right?"

Ironhide sighed. "All right – but if you feel tired, or if there's pain, go to bed immediately and –"

"…call you," Optimus finished, tracing his fingers along his mate's cheek plating. "Yes, I know. You've been telling me that every night since I've got sparked, 'Hide." His white dermas flashed in the moonlight seeping in through their large balcony. "You don't need to worry so much. It's just carrying. Lots of mechs carry, and deliver uneventfully."

"Even so," Ironhide groused. "But it's better to be safe than sorry, huh?"

Optimus rolled his optics, but smiled. "That isn't going to stop me from doing work as and when I deem fit, 'Hide." One look at his sparkmate and he knew Ironhide was going to complain again, so the Prime pressed a finger to his dermas. "But I promise you, if I feel anything…wrong, I'll be sure to stop immediately and get you."

Ironhide paused, and then shrugged, as if that reassurance was enough, and then nuzzled his sparkmate. "Okay, recharge. You're not supposed to be up this late and I've got to go to work tomorrow. Ultra Magnus wants to meet with all the lecturers and professors in the morning to talk about some hierarchy thing."

Optimus agreed with the statement – he was very tired, and the sparkling was practically draining all of his energy away. Sitting up slowly, he took hold of Ironhide's hand and guided the mech to their berthroom. Ironhide worried, yes, but that was because he loved Optimus and his unborn sparkling.

That came to be the second type of love that Optimus Prime came to know, and he would bask in its glow for as long as his lifespan lasted. Was there a third type of love – one that he could not receive, but give, instead? He did not know, but perhaps he would when their sparkling was born.

* * *

**_~The End~_**

* * *

**A/N: **Please R&R :)


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